


Sick of Being Tired

by moodwriter



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Cutting, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodwriter/pseuds/moodwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy Joe wakes up to pain after he wrapped his car around a tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick of Being Tired

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Banner by me
> 
> This story was betaed by the lovely @aislinntlc. She always makes me laugh. :)

When he wakes up it feels like parts of him are missing. He can't see; his body ends at his neck; his mind is a question mark.

He has memory fragments. He remembers glass and flashing lights. He remembers noise, people yelling. The dark road.

He's in a hospital. A doctor is whispering with a nurse. He feels someone close by, someone familiar, someone who loves him. The love feels blue, and it's coming to him in waves.

He can't talk because there's something over his mouth. An oxygen mask? A face-hugger from Alien?

His body is coming back to him, and a part of him sighs in relief. He's not paralyzed, not dead, not entirely broken. He can move his right hand fingers. Maybe his left hand can still hold the neck, pull the notes out of his guitar. Maybe. The loss of music is a deep panicky ache inside him, and he pushes it aside, trying to recognize the person sitting by his bed. Mom? Too strong. Lisa? Too mysterious. Mike? Then he concentrates on the way the person breathes, and he knows it's Adam. Nobody breathes that deep.

"He's awake," Adam says, or tries to say, but he has to clear his throat before the words actually come out. He sounds tired. He sounds like guilt. Adam wasn't driving. He was nowhere near the car. Tommy wrapped it around a tree all by himself.

The doctor comes to check on him, talks to him even though he can't say anything in return. He takes the mask off, then says, "How are you feeling, Mr. Ratliff?"

"Like I just killed my car with a tree."

"So you remember?"

He tries to nod, but he realizes for the first time that he's wearing a neck support. "Yeah," he says instead, then squeezes the next words out of his mouth. "My hands..."

Adam lets out a pained sound, then says carefully, "Your left. You fractured your arm."

"Yes, the humerus bone is broken, but it’ll get better," the doctor says, then leans closer to Tommy. "Even with nerve damage, in most cases, those heal completely." The doctor pauses, then starts asking questions about his condition: What hurts? What can’t he feel at all? Can he breathe properly? Then when it’s clear he’s not as fragile as he should be they talk about his insurance, allergies, and his records and their family doctor. 

His mother has probably given most of the information already, but the doctor seems to want to know if his mind works properly and how well he’s adapting to his new situation.

The doctor also tells him how bad his injuries are. He was in surgery for six hours because of his broken leg and internal injuries, and he’s been in a coma for a few days. He also has a cut in his right eye, and the left is damaged otherwise. That’s why he has a bandage over his eyes. 

“You’re doing well, though,” the doctor finally says, his voice warm. “You’re very calm.”

Tommy wonders where the shock is. Maybe nothing has sunk in yet. It just feels like it’s not his life. 

“Your mom is sleeping in the next room,” Adam says, taking Tommy’s unharmed hand into his. “She’s been awake the past forty hours, and we finally got her to rest.” Adam leans closer, whispering. “They’re letting me be here because I pulled some strings. I hope you don’t mind.”

Like he ever would. Adam makes him breathe easier. “Be my eyes,” he says after a while because Adam doesn’t seem to know what to say. 

He feels the hesitation, feels how Adam mulls over the words. “It’s a white room. Your bed is metal. You’re wearing green, and it clashes with your hair. There’s a table next to you, and there are flowers and balloons and gifts from people. Fans too. We had to make a statement because the rumors were worse.” Adam pauses, and Tommy imagines him looking around. “You have a private room, and there’s a big window facing the yard. It’s dark outside, but it’s not yet evening. I think it’s been raining.”

Tommy loves Adam a little because of this. It chokes him, and he holds onto Adam’s hand harder, as hard as he can. 

“There’s a TV opposite your bed. It’s nailed to the wall, and it’s smaller than your own. The door is to your left, and there’s also a window to the hall, but it has curtains. I don’t know... It’s pretty standard. You’ve seen it a million times on TV.”

Yeah, but nothing about this is standard. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen. He turns towards where he thinks the doctor is standing. “How long until I can use my left arm?”

“It should heal in three months,” the doctor says, his voice kind. 

He sighs, trying to push back the frustration. “What about my eyes?”

There’s a pause during which Tommy doesn’t breathe. 

“We don’t know yet.”

Nobody knows a fucking thing about his stupid body. It’s up to him to get better. And he doesn’t know where to begin. At least he didn’t break his spine. 

“You’ll be fine,” Adam says, but Tommy knows he’s not sure either. They all want to believe. 

He bites his lip, then swallows because it hurts. There’s a cut. It makes him wonder how awful he looks. “How’s mom?”

“She’s relieved she didn’t lose you.”

The last thing he wants is to make her worry. “How’s everyone else?” And he feels like there’s a dark spot in his memory, something he’s forgotten. “Was there anyone else? Did I hurt someone?”

“God, no,” Adam says, urgent. “You dropped Ashley off. Everyone’s fine. It was an empty road.”

That makes him relax a little. “Have they been here?”

“They won’t let anyone in here yet. Only family. I’m an exception.” Adam sounds coy, and it makes Tommy laugh. 

It hurts to laugh. He wants more painkillers. He wants to wake up in the future when everything is fine again. He doesn’t want to even think about the option that nothing might be. 

He feels so tired. 

“You should rest now,” the doctor says. 

Tommy agrees. He falls asleep, holding Adam’s hand. 

When he comes around next Adam is snoring lightly close by, and everything feels like it’s night time. He’s thirsty, and he reaches for the bedside table in hopes of finding a water glass. He manages to drop something, and Adam wakes up, letting out a surprised sound. 

“You okay?” Adam whispers, touching his arm. 

“Water, please.”

Adam pours him water, then helps him drink, and he feels like a child, like a broken toy. 

They don’t talk because Adam clearly doesn’t want to upset Tommy, and Tommy has nothing to say. “Do I look awful?” he asks after a while. 

“You look like you were in an accident,” Adam says, soft and quiet. “All the bones of your face are fine, though. You didn’t break any. But you have bruises.”

He wants to be depressed about it, but somehow he can’t bring himself to care enough. What matters is that his mind is still intact, that he’s still Tommy Joe, and that he can move his fingers. If he can do that he can make music. And he still has his hearing so he can listen to music, hear Adam sing... That’s kind of everything in his little universe at the moment. 

“Did they think I wouldn’t make it?” He doesn’t want to think about his mother, or the way they’ve all rushed into the hospital. He doesn’t want to think about Mike or Sutan who can’t even see him. He has to send them a text. 

“For a while you were unstable. You lost a lot of blood. The wound on your leg... It was an artery, and it took time to get you out of the car.”

Adam is so solid. Even though Tommy can’t see, he feels like he can. Adam is disheveled, wearing something that doesn’t match, no makeup, and he hasn’t showered for a while. “Can I see my mom?” 

He can’t see anything. 

“Do you want me to wake her up?” 

He wants to wake up. 

“Yeah, please...”

He knows it’s late o’clock, but he also knows his mom. She’ll be more upset if they don’t tell her right away that he’s awake. They should’ve told her the moment he came around the first time. 

Adam goes away, stays gone for a short while, then comes back with Tommy’s mom in tow. “Oh Tommy,” she says quietly, and then she’s all over him, as gentle as she can be. 

He knows she’s crying even though she’s not making a sound. He’s her baby. 

“How are you feeling?” she finally asks. 

Tommy wonders how many times he has to answer that same question until he can say: _fine_. “I’m... okay.” 

She lets out a hysterical laugh. “Don’t lie.”

“My mind is okay,” he says tentatively. 

That makes her squeeze his hand harder. “Thank God.”

He could say _God_ has nothing to do with it, but he’s not that petty. He’s just happy he can tell her himself that he’s here and he still knows her. 

They stay beside his bed even when he dozes off. He can feel them close by every time he comes around for a brief moment, and it makes him feel like they are protecting his sleep.

His life becomes orderly in the next few weeks. He gets released. He gets physical therapy. He gets regular check-ins. And his friends come over more than his antisocial self has ever tolerated. He tolerates it now because it’s the only thing that keeps him from thinking about all the things he can’t do right now. 

Adam is on tour, and all the little messages he sends from there mark Tommy’s days. They create color, but they also tear him open, and he’s raw to the bone every time Adam sends him a text, a picture, or, on the best days, an e-mail. 

This is his life now. 

His eyes are getting better even though the damage to his right one won’t heal entirely, but he can see with his left, and that’s enough. He tells himself every day that all the little wins are exactly that. He won. He’s alive. He still has connections to his previous life. 

Tommy stares at his guitars longingly. He picks them up, holds them close to his body, finding new ways to tease sounds out of the strings now that he only has one useful hand. 

The doctor says his arm is healing, but it’s not healing fast enough. His fingers are stiff, and it constantly hurts. He fears he won’t be able to do anything with it once he gets the permission to try. He has nightmares where his arm is shrivelled when it’s revealed to him. 

He curses the fact that it’s his left arm that’s broken. He needs to maintain the wrist and finger agility, or he can’t be a professional anymore. 

Tommy watches all the youtube videos of one-armed guitar players. Just in case.

Sutan starts taking him for weekly walks even though he’s as busy as ever. Somehow he still manages to end up outside Tommy’s door every Thursday at five. 

He can’t walk without crutches, so at first their walks are very short and usually take them to the nearest coffee shop, but it’s a start. 

Everything is a new beginning in his life, and he should be so god damn grateful. 

And then he finds a way to release all that gratefulness: his uncle’s old hunting knife.

He hasn’t seen Adam for three months, but Adam sends messages daily. Tommy still can’t believe that he matters that much to Adam. The tour is a success; Adam’s gigs are mostly in arenas now, and he’s loving it as much as he did before. 

A part of Tommy feels like he never mattered after all.

The three months are also enough for two things to happen: he meets a girl and his arm starts to function again. He has to let it rest, but not too much. He doesn’t know what’s the right amount of pain, and what’s just making everything worse. He can’t stop using it. He has nerve damage. They said he would most likely experience it, but still... the pain surprises him. He can’t grip with his fingers. Nothing holds. He drops everything. He won’t stop trying. 

The girl, Lilith Malone, is a friend of a friend who’s wanted to meet him since forever. He goes out with her, and she’s surprised to see how broken he still is. 

Tommy sees immediately that she’s looking for something, but he’s looking for something too. Easy company, meaningless sex, body-warmth. Whatever takes his mind off the things that are literally in pieces. 

He knows Adam has a break before the international leg of the tour, but he has no illusions of being on the list of people Adam will meet during that break. There’s parents, friends, home. 

He has Adam’s schedule because Ashley has kept him posted. They’re flying to LA early in the morning, staying for a week and a half, and then going to Prague for the European part of the tour. 

Tommy doesn’t expect to wake up to Adam hovering over his bed way too early in the morning, fully dressed, looking like he’s come straight from the airport to see him. 

“What...?” He rubs his eyes, not believing them for a second. 

Adam drops his bag, shakes off his jacket, toes off his shoes, then says, “Move over.”

Tommy does that, too stunned to do anything else. 

Adam moves under the covers, pulls Tommy close, and breathes him in. “Sleep, okay?”

He hiccups because _what the hell?_ and then chooses to ignore his frantic heart. No time for talk. He falls asleep, listening to Adam breathe. 

When he wakes up Adam is already awake, petting his hair, lying on his side, probably watching Tommy like a total creep. 

Tommy smiles because it’s a good morning. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Adam says softly. “Sorry for the surprise. I was dead after the flight, and this was easier than just arranging everything. I would’ve left if you hadn’t been alone.”

He continues to grin like a fool. “Remind me to take the key away from you.”

Adam taps Tommy’s nose. “Never.”

Yeah, okay... He’s comfortable. 

“I missed you,” Adam says with raw honesty. 

Tommy could stab his finger through Adam’s defenses if he wanted to. 

“Are you doing okay?”

Now he is. “I’m moping. Depressed. An asshole to most people I know.”

Adam laughs. “Good to know.” He pets Tommy some more, then puts his leg over Tommy’s thighs. “Does this hurt?”

“Seriously? It’s been months. I’m walking without that stupid stick.”

Adam winces, like Tommy just accused him of being away all this time. 

“Hey, hey, it’s not you. You couldn’t stop the tour just because your stupid guitarist can’t drive.”

“Don’t say that,” Adam whispers.

“Say what? That it’s my fault?”

“That you’re stupid and just my guitarist.” Adam buries his face in Tommy’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he confesses, helpless. 

Adam groans. “I’m sorry I have to leave again soon.”

He’s sorry too. 

Adam stays for coffee and breakfast, Mike interrogating him about tour life while Tommy watches them over the rim of his coffee mug. He’ll miss Adam when he leaves. 

There are times when he can’t look in the mirror, times when the only thing keeping him sane is the sharp edge of his knife. 

Sometimes he feels like a prisoner in his own home, like the walls are there to keep him in. He could go out, but he learned over the first months how much easier it is to stay in, no matter how much people dragged him out. And they still do. 

During one of his dark moments, he gets a text from Adam:

_Thinking of your tiny ass. We’re in a bar in Manila, and there’s a guy in a loincloth on the stage. It’s weird. Love you._

He thinks about the many ways he’s loved Adam as he reads that text over and over again. He thinks this love is now the same color as LA sunsets. 

Tommy plays that night, only thinking about the knife and not touching it. 

The next time he sees Adam it’s in his living room. Adam must have let himself in again because in mid-game, after just killing a bunch of monsters, he feels a shift in his reality. He turns to look towards the door, and there Adam is, tired and driven, and absolutely gorgeous. 

Tommy walks up to him, puts his arms around him, and just holds on. Adam’s hands find his waist and pull him up into the hug. It’s been months again. 

His mind screams at him, mindless noise that makes no sense to him, but it doesn’t matter. Adam is here. 

“I’m taking a long break,” Adam finally says. “Long, long, long break.”

He’s down with that. 

“I never want to see another hotel room ever again.”

“Not even the fancy-ass ones?” he asks against Adam’s neck. 

“Especially those. Fancy-ass cars, fancy-ass parties, fancy-ass gifts. None. Of. It.”

“Okay.”

Adam sighs. It sounds like relief. 

“So you’re back?”

“Yeah, I would’ve called, but can you imagine, I was busy the whole time.”

Tommy snorts. “I have a doorbell. People use it.”

Adam still doesn’t let go, just holds onto Tommy like they are attached at the hip, and Tommy doesn’t mind. He can breathe under Adam’s chin. 

They talk away the afternoon, sitting side by side on Mike’s couch, constantly touching. Adam plays with Tommy’s fingers because they are now better, more under his control. There’s still not enough strength in his hold, but he can at least play for half an hour before it starts to hurt too much. He can almost play like he used to, almost. 

Adam doesn’t ask him to show what he can do, but Tommy sees it in his eyes so he goes to pick up his acoustic guitar. He plays Underneath and Runnin’ just to show Adam that he’s been thinking about coming back. Then he moves to Queen and Manson and a few new songs he’s made with Mike. Then, before he starts to hurt too much, he puts the guitar down. He doesn’t want to show Adam how awful it still is. 

“How are you?” Adam finally asks. 

“I’m fine,” he says, but then adds, “It’s starting to show that I haven’t been working, though. I’ve used all my savings.” And then he realizes he’s talking to his boss, and that shit just isn’t cool. 

“Can you come back? When?” 

“Not for a while. I couldn’t play for two hours straight. I don’t know if I could stand that long either...” He needs to do something soon, though. 

“I can give you money if--”

“Stop right there,” Tommy says. 

“But--”

Tommy lifts his finger, and when Adam still looks like he’s going to talk he presses his finger against Adam’s lips. “No.”

Adam grabs his wrist, turns Tommy’s hand so he can kiss the knuckles, then says, “Okay, but just so you know, the offer stands. Always.”

Adam stays the night, sleeping in Tommy’s bed, and it’s all good until Tommy wakes up during the night to sleep paralysis. There’s a heavy weight over his chest, and he sees a human-shaped shadow close to the ceiling. His heart feels like it’s going to break through his chest. 

He can’t breathe. 

Tommy knows what’s going on because he’s had these before, but knowing doesn’t make it go away. He just waits, waits, waits, trying not to kill himself with the panic, and when it’s finally over he gets up without disturbing Adam, finds the knife easily even in the darkness, and heads to the bathroom. 

There’s no single clear thought or decision; it’s just something he needs right now. 

He sits on the toilet bowl, not thinking, nothing making sense except that sharp press against his skin. His stomach is a mess with the surgery scar and the damage the glass did to it. A few more scars won’t get noticed later. Nothing can make him look whole again anyway. 

And all of a sudden Adam is there, staring at him, his hair in his eyes, his black T-shirt and briefs stark against his skin. “Oh...” he mumbles, leaning against the door frame, then stepping in and closing the door. 

Tommy just sits there, the knife in his hand, his thoughts all over the place. He doesn’t have his shirt on so he can’t hide anything. 

“You cut?” Adam asks, his eyes huge. 

He wants to deny it, but the knife is bloody, and he’s holding it. He can’t just claim he fell on it. “Well... yeah.” Lame. 

Adam just stares at him, then sits on the floor opposite Tommy so he’s the one who’s looking up now. “I don’t know what to say,” Adam confesses quietly, and for some reason that’s the only right thing to say. 

Tommy drops the knife into the sink, his hands bloody. He wants to wash it all away, but he has no strength left. 

“Can I ask things?” Adam asks. There’s a _please_ at the end of that sentence.

He hesitates, then nods. 

“Does it help?”

That surprises him so totally he stops breathing for a second. “What?”

“Does it make you feel better? Does it take the pain away?” Adam looks at him with soft eager eyes, then puts a hand on his knee. 

They are always so backwards with everything. “Aren’t you supposed to make me stop?” He doesn’t know what to do with his hands because Adam is too close, touching him, and Tommy’s hands are dirty. 

“I’m... I don’t know. Do you want me to?” Adam looks puzzled, lost. 

He shows his bloody palms to Adam. “I did this.”

“I know,” Adam whispers. 

Tommy holds his hands out until Adam takes them into his. “I think it helps,” he says, looking at their joined fingers.

“Okay.” Adam sounds exhausted. “Okay. That’s... God, is it good? I don’t know.”

He wants to hug Adam. “I’m sorry?”

He’s never told anyone, not in rehabilitation, and definitely not in his real life. When he was younger he sometimes played with the idea of cutting, but it felt so not-his-thing back then. Now, it’s what gets him by. 

Adam is quiet for awhile, watching Tommy’s cut skin shamelessly, and for some reason, Tommy doesn’t care. Maybe because Adam never judges him. 

“Does it hurt?” Adam finally asks.

“Yeah...”

“When... When did you start doing it?” 

Tommy shrugs. “After they took off the stitches.”

Adam gets up, still holding Tommy’s hand, saying, “Come here.” He pulls Tommy to his feet. 

They stand in front of the sink, staring at each other in the mirror, Adam behind him, close. Adam flips the faucet on, puts Tommy’s hands under the rush of water, washing them clean. When it’s over he dries Tommy’s hands with a towel. 

It’s weird, but kind of nice, and Tommy doesn’t want to stop Adam. 

When Adam kneels in front of him with a few pieces of wet toilet paper in his hand, Tommy lets out a broken breath. Adam is careful with the shallow wounds, mostly just wiping away the blood, and it’s not easy to let him do that. Tommy doesn’t know why he lets it happen. 

It’s pure instinct when he brushes his fingers through Adam’s hair. He doesn’t mean to, but now that he has, all he wants is to do it again. So he does, and Adam closes his eyes, humming. 

He’s never going to understand their friendship. 

“Let’s go back to bed,” Adam finally says, and Tommy helps him up. 

In his room, it’s dark because he tries to keep all light out when he sleeps, if he sleeps. They stumble a little, laughing, holding onto each other, and it’s less overwhelming somehow. 

Tommy lets Adam spoon him from behind, lets him wrap a careful arm around his chest, and if there’s a hard cock pressing against his ass he really doesn’t care. Right now, he’s just happy to have Adam back.

He wakes up to something weird, and when he realizes what it is he giggles. Adam is sitting between his spread legs, sliding his fingers over the underside of Tommy’s thighs. He’s doing it over and over again, and it means he took off Tommy’s pajama pants. 

Their friendship defies everything.

Instead of saying anything, Tommy just relaxes, spreading his arms a little too. He sighs. 

It’s still dark in the room because of his heavy curtains, so he can’t really see Adam clearly, which means Adam can’t see him clearly either. It’s a good thing. He still looks like he went through a shredder. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” Adam says, his nails making Tommy shiver. 

Nothing should be this simple. Adam was gone for so long. “What are you doing?” he finally asks because his sanity is the only thing he still has, and even that is questionable. 

“You didn’t lose your ability to feel.” Adam kisses his knee, and Tommy lets out a surprised sound. “I’m making you see that.”

“I know I didn’t,” he says, thinking of Lilith and her mouth around his cock, and he groans. 

“You know I love you, right?” Adam asks, still just touching Tommy’s thighs lightly. 

“Yeah...” 

“And you trust me?”

Tommy snorts. “I’m not freaking out even though you undressed me in my sleep. Shouldn’t that tell you something?”

He feels Adam’s joy. He can’t see it clearly, but he feels it through the touch. “I love you,” Adam says, and this time it’s much clearer, a statement, a promise. 

“Love you back,” Tommy says, relaxing even more into Adam’s touch like Adam is massaging all the aches off his body. 

“I thought you’d die. I had no... I didn’t get any... I didn’t know if you’d survive. I always know these things. I just know when it’s time to prepare for the worst. With you... I didn’t. You were dying, and I couldn’t even stay beside you.” Adam sounds like his heart is bleeding, like he’s in pain. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop the machine. I wanted to be here every step of the way, and instead, I was gone for most of it.”

“You were here,” Tommy says because it’s the truth. “You don’t know what it means to me that you remembered me every day.”

“I was always waiting for that one moment when I could send something. The highlight of my day. So... no way of forgetting it.” Adam’s fingers feel bolder somehow even though they are still just touching Tommy’s thighs, nothing else. “I want to... stay.”

“Then do. I’m not going anywhere.”

Adam bites Tommy’s thigh. “For real, I mean. For real.” This time, Adam licks a trail up his thigh to his groin, and Tommy’s breath hitches. He’s trying to interpret the words right, but Adam is slowly breaking him apart, and he can’t think. 

“I want to wake up next to you every morning,” Adam whispers against his skin, breathing in his scent. “Is that possible? Ever?”

Tommy nods, letting out a strangled cry when Adam mouths him through his briefs. “Yeah, yes, please...” he breathes out, lost in what Adam makes him feel. 

“You probably don’t have any lube or lotion?” Adam asks, then licks him over the fabric.

He laughs, his hips jerking up. “This is the most gay sex that’s ever happened here.”

“Then it’s just this, baby.” Adam pulls at Tommy’s briefs, and he lifts up his hips to help Adam get them off. 

Adam’s mouth is everything when it surrounds his aching cock, and Tommy can’t stay still, can’t stop moaning. He’s going to come, like this is his first blowjob, like he’s never had a tongue licking the underside of his cock. He’s going to come right the fuck now. He pulls at Adam’s hair, trying to make him stop, trying to warn him a little, but Adam just keeps going, swallowing around Tommy, and he can’t take it. He holds onto Adam and shoots down his throat, crying out, so, so out of it he can’t even breathe. 

Adam pulls back a little, licking away every last drop, his tongue wide and wet. It makes Tommy squirm because he’s too sensitive after the orgasm. Adam presses his cheek against Tommy’s cock and balls, sighing, his arms pulling Tommy close. 

That’s just... Tommy bites his lip, trying to see what Adam is doing, and why he’s not trying to finish himself off. “What are you doing?” he finally asks because he’s too curious. 

“I don’t have to go anywhere, do anything, be anyone... I’m being happy.” He feels Adam grin against his junk, and that’s just weird. 

“Come up here to be happy,” he says. He wants to giggle again. Adam is the weirdest person he knows. 

Adam doesn’t move. “No, thanks.”

“You choosing my cock over my pretty face?” He fake-pouts, knowing Adam can hear it in his voice. 

“I’m choosing you. The whole you. Everything you. But right now, I’m enjoying this so shut up, baby, and go to sleep.”

Tommy wants to protest, wants to argue a little more, but sleep sounds good, and he really likes the feel of Adam down there. He feels like it’s a new beginning, and it’s better than anything he’s had in a long while. 

Adam lifts his hand, and Tommy takes it, lets their joined hands drop over his stomach, and before he falls asleep he hears Adam say, “You’re pretty everywhere.”

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I was already writing this story when @xtremelita on Twitter asked if I could write about cutting one day. We talked about it for a while, and I realized that this story was a place for it. I was unable to continue it until I got her prompt so it was definitely a prompt that was waiting to be written. 
> 
> Cutting is not in a huge role in this story, but I hope it's written in a manner that it feels... "right". I can't explain this in a few words, and this would either require a long post or just me letting the story speak for itself. :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. It means a lot to me. <3


End file.
